


Festival of Love

by Snowy38



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dreadlock!Harry, Fluff, Footballer!Louis, M/M, Snow, Winter Festival, hippie!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy38/pseuds/Snowy38
Summary: The only issue was that Stan's idea of debauchery featured girls and although his team mates knew Louis was gay, they didn't exactly go out of their way to accommodate him on the pulling front.So Louis had left Stan in the sea of women he'd attracted and tried to sink under the radar for a bit.  That plan was working nicely until he'd slipped in the mud and crashed into something.Or someone.Someone with dreadlocks and a disgruntled disposition apparently.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas to those who celebrate it.
> 
> Let it be known I created controversy and faced the wrath of twitter warriors to bring you dreadlock Harry XD
> 
> I hope you like it...let me know :)
> 
> Ang

 

Louis looks up into a face. A remarkably beautiful but _pouting_ face.

 

He'd come to The "Winter Solstice" festival at the very last minute. His team-mate Stan had talked him into braving the cold bite of winter in favour of bands and dancing.

 

The football team had won eight out of ten of their first games of the season and Stan had convinced him they'd earned a weekend of debauchery.

 

The only issue was that Stan's idea of debauchery featured girls and although his team mates knew he was gay, they didn't exactly go out of their way to accommodate him on the pulling front.

 

So Louis had left Stan in the sea of women he'd attracted and tried to sink under the radar for a bit. 

 

That plan was working nicely until he'd slipped in the mud and crashed into something.

 

Or _someone_.

 

Someone with dreadlocks and a disgruntled disposition apparently.

 

"Hi..."

 

Louis moves himself back from the bear-like man who appears to be wearing twenty layers of mismatched clothing along with silver rings and beads threaded onto his dreaded hair.

 

"Sorry about that," he adds, his feet squelching in the pit of mud.

 

"I'm stuck." The man says.

 

Louis' brows rise, his eyes dipping downwards. He notices the generally _old_ look of the guys clothes. He also notices how nice his thighs look in velveteen trousers.

 

"Are you? Want some help?"

 

Louis pulls his feet out of the plunger-type bog and tries to make his way to solid land. He gets a questionable grip on some muddy grass (at least the grass roots are holding steady) and puts out a hand towards the stranger.

 

"Are you wearing designer Wellingtons?" The guy asks and his accent is posh northern which Louis just-

 

"Yeah, why?"

 

The man with the dreads sniffs. Louis stops leaning over with his hand, folding his arms across his chest instead.

 

"What's wrong with designer clothes?" He asks.

 

"They're _wellies_. You can get them from the bargain shop for four quid..."

 

"Says the guy who sounds posher than my great aunt from High Gate."

 

"I'm still a hippie though," the male argues with a huff.

 

His cheeks are flushed and his hair clacks together when he shakes his head. His face is streaked with mud and his heavily ringed hands are much worse.

 

Louis squints.

 

"Please tell me that isn't a mood ring."

 

The guy glares.

 

"You can leave now."

 

Louis splutters into laughter.

 

"Is that why you're still stuck? Because you tell everyone to fuck off who wants to help you?"

 

The guy faces away with a sigh, also folding his arms.

 

Louis purses his lips, watching him for a moment. He has broad shoulders and a sharp jaw and soft eyes.

 

Louis relents with a sag of his body.

 

"Alright," he muses. "No need to be a Princess..."

 

The man twirls his body to glare at him again.

 

"I'm Louis," The shorter man smiles in a manner he hopes reflects his friendliness.

 

The hippie scrunches up his nose, nostrils flaring before he unfolds his arms reluctantly.

 

"Harry." He states, furrow in his brows.

 

Louis smirks.

 

"Really? Your parents named you Harold and you decided to join a commune?"

 

Harry tilts his head.

 

"Actually my parents named me Harry and I joined the commune when my ex boyfriend kicked me out."

 

Louis finds himself beaming. This Harry fellow just revealed his preference for men. Along with his single status. Despite the fact he looks like he's wearing a body warmer and a poncho, Louis can't help the way he's attracted to the handsome loner.

 

"Is there any particular reason why you're so happy about me being made homeless by my ex?" Harry enquires moodily.

 

Louis bites his lip, combing fingers through his damp fringe.

 

"Just-Like..." he glances at Harry and his bravado shrivels.

 

Harry's beautiful eyes are narrowing at him and Louis flashes a wan smile.

 

"Never mind. Let's get you out of there shall we?"

 

Harry pulls at one foot, evidencing his level of stuck-ness.

 

"Like I haven't been trying for the last hour.. "

 

Louis ruffles his dreadlocks.

 

"S'alright grumpy, we'll have you out of there in a flash..."

 

"A guy over there's been taking pictures the last half hour," Harry grumbles, lifting his chin towards a stoned-looking reveller.

 

Louis storms over to the man and rips his phone out of his hand. He deletes the photos of Harry and storms back, eyeing the uncertain sky.

 

"It looks like rain again..."

 

Harry's demeanour changes from grumpy kitten to something softer. Something guilty. He sucks his lower lip.

 

"You don't have to help me you know."

 

Louis grins.

 

"I can be your hero!" He teases. "Knight in shining armour..."

 

Louis bends at the waist to start work on freeing one of Harry's suckered limbs. 

 

"You're too small to be a leading man," Harry accuses and although Louis is regretting getting his hand around Harry's leg and he'd quite like to topple him over; he uses his anger to power his strength and he yanks Harry's foot free.

 

"Louis!" Harry calls, bewildered as he over balances sideways clinging to Louis' back.

 

Louis smirks at the ground, the pressure from Harry's body making his wellies slip.

 

"You're going to have to get on my back," Louis shouts.

 

"I most certainly am _not_ -"

 

"What happened to _'hey man I live in a commune...peace out'_ ," Louis snorts. "Never mounted a guy before? What did you and that ex of yours get up to then? Holding hands and dates with chaperones?"

 

"Shut up," Harry snaps as he struggles to balance on his trapped leg, eyeing Louis' mostly clean back. "I can't _mount you_ because I'll make you filthy," he adds dryly.

 

Louis smiles.

 

"Just get on me Harold. I haven't got all day."

 

Harry's leg lands haphazardly on Louis' back and he inches closer into the apex of those lean thighs that feel hot and muscled now he's in between them (but not in a way he'd imagined).

 

"Right," Louis calls as he fixes his firm grip around Harry's other leg low down. "When I tug this one out you're going to fall, so grab me, okay? Like I'm giving you a piggy back..."

 

Harry grumbles.

 

"And then what?"

 

"Then I run and we'll topple over somewhere," Louis replies brightly. "Still better than being stuck, right?"

 

Harry flicks his thick dreads away and Louis swears he smells patchouli.

 

"Alright, Lewis. I'm ready."

 

Louis freezes.

 

"It's Lou-ee. Not Lewis."

 

"Lewis," Harry repeats with a smug tone that denotes his equally smug grin.

 

"I can always just toss you backwards so that your precious fake leopard print coat gets coated in mud?" Louis poses sweetly.

 

Harry mutters a _'no need to be mean, Louis'_ and then Louis tugs at his foot to free it.

 

Three jerks later and Harry's scrambling onto his back, Louis grasping his arms around his thighs and stumbling away from the bog.

 

"Shit... _fuck_ ," he veers to avoid a pint-carrying festival-fan and skids face-first into some wet grass.

 

"Oww," he whines as his hand bends back painfully from the impact and his jaw clacks on hitting the ground.

 

Harry lands sprawled on Louis' back until he rolls over and when Louis looks him over out of curiosity, a bark of laughter pitches from his lips.

 

"You own _gold designer boots_?"

 

"They're vintage," Harry argues, cheeks flushing.

 

"They're fucking expensive," Louis responds. "I should know, I looked at them with a mate of mine who-"

 

"Fine!" Harry's cuts him off with an exasperated sigh. "The one item I save up for as a treat and this is what I get..."

 

Louis straightens his legs as he sits up. He knocks the toes of his wellies together. It starts to rain.

 

"I'm going back to camp." Harry states, pushing himself up to a standing position.

 

Louis fish-mouths.

 

"I don't even get a thank you?" He gasps, offended.

 

He also gets up, lifting his chin to meet Harry's gaze.

 

"I don't care if you are a hippie, you're ungrateful, rude and more fucking miserable than that shitting rain cloud!" He casts, ineffectively pressing his fringe away from his eyes.

 

Harry stomps off but his foot slips a bit and Louis takes secret pleasure in his whelp of fear as he does so.

 

//

 

Louis regrets his hot headedness around half an hour later when he's done the rounds in the executive camping zone only to find Stan has a bevy of females keeping him company; most of whom have taken over Louis' rather cosy inflated mattress. He could bribe himself another executive tent but he loathes using his wealth and infamy to do so.

 

He kicks about a bit before deciding to head to the public camping area in the hope of finding an empty tent but what with the weather, it's full to brimming.

 

He's two seconds away from finding the nearest Five Star hotel when something catches his eye.

 

A rainbow coloured camper van is parked up and a tarpaulin acts as an awning across to another vintage mini van- _possibly a Bedford-_ and beside that there's a giant tent been built, big enough to house an army.

 

There's a guy beckoning him from under the white plastic waxed sheet, the rain pattering loudly onto it.

 

"Hey man, you want some dope?"

 

Louis heads over, hands shoved in his pockets and jacket collar flipped up. The rain trickles down his neck onto his back and he shivers.

 

"Got anywhere I can get warm?" He asks.

 

The guy grins, teeth full of gold.

 

"Sure bruh..."

 

Another guy appears from the back of the camper-van, his eyes trailing up and down Louis' body.

 

He's tall and weedy-looking and his dreads are blonde. but he smells nice and he's dry and Louis thinks about it for five seconds while a third guy comes up from nowhere to front up to him.

 

"Want to get warm little one?"

 

Louis' mouth falls open.

 

"I'm not little! How bloody dare you! I'm-"

 

"Louis Tomlinson, striker for Manchester City." The voice is from the blonde.

 

Louis' eyes flare and he steps back to get away from the intimidating stranger in front of him.

 

"I'm sorry I stumbled into your patch," he extends quietly. "I'll be on my way now..."

 

"No, man, don't go..." the first guy calls and the third guy blocks his swift exit.

 

Louis stares at him.

 

"Look-"

 

"Shortstuff's with me."

 

All four men's head swivel to find the source of the voice. Harry is stood there in the ugliest bright yellow women's rain mac and Louis is 90% sure he's never been so pleased to see anyone in his life.

 

For that moment he doesn't care that the world at large doesn't know his sexuality. He's confident the press wouldn't believe a stoner anyway should they try to sell a story on him.

 

"Harry?"

 

"Shortstuff?" The blonde smirks. "That your nickname for the little guy?"

 

Harry comes closer, his hood up but folded on the edge. Louis can see his feet are bare. If he wasn't so offended at the way his height is being vindicated then he'd have something to say to Harry about not taking proper care of himself but as it is-

 

"For fucks sake! I'm not that little!" He shunts the weird guy away, seething.

 

Harry approaches with a deceptively warm smile filled with grotesque dimples and bunny teeth.

 

"Lou-bear...We both know that's not true..."

 

Harry seems to claim Louis somewhat into a squishy hug that Louis narrows his eyes at, crushed into Harry's body. 

 

Harry goes as far to Eskimo kiss him.

 

"Missed you, Boo."

 

"Kept that one quiet," the blonde remarks to Harry.

 

"Nice ass on him," the stoner adds with a salacious smirk.

 

The letch skulks back into the shadows.

 

Louis shivers, still crushed to Harry. He probably doesn't want to admit how nice it feels, how warm and lovely.

 

"Let's get you dry, petal," Harry says and Louis wants to belt him or put his best foot to good use and kick the shit out of him but Harry's grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the tent.

 

"Wait-who's in there?" He panics. "Like how many-?"

 

He stutters to a halt when he realises the big tent is like a tee-pee housing an Indian tribe. People are asleep in a huge circle; some clearly in pairs or overlapping.

 

Louis can see where a sleeping bag is flipped open, multicoloured blankets draped over it and the surrounding sleepers.

 

Harry tiptoes through the bodies to look for his clothes, passing Louis some roomy cords and an ugly care bears tee-shirt.

 

Louis carries them to the back of tent where an elaborate wash room has been set up with a solar powered shower and a top class eco toilet.

 

He peeks at Harry.

 

"I'll be outside," Harry murmurs.

 

//

 

As Louis dresses into his clothes (after deciding he may as well have a hot shower since he was wet already) he begins to feel oddly nervous.

 

Things didn't end well after his first meeting with Harry and Harry had to rescue him from his over-amorous friends so now Louis feels...weird.

 

He heads out of the elaborate bathroom to find Harry waiting patiently with wide yawns and sleepy eyes, his hair hanging like spiders legs in ringed twirls.

 

"What are these for?" Louis steps up to twist one of the silver hoops around his dreadlock.

 

"Decoration," Harry says, peeking at Louis through the abundance of his hair. His eyes are green and Louis feels enraptured.

 

Louis towel dries his hair to distract himself and swallows away his attraction.

 

"Thanks for um...back there?" He tilts his head to signal the shit show that happened outside.

 

Harry's hum covers a yawn.

 

"Oh. Well those guys can be annoying so."

 

"Not sure I like being called shortstuff," Louis adds.

 

Harry's eyes shine as a dopey smile spreads across his face.

 

"You _are_ sort of cute though..."

 

Louis stares.

 

"I had to think of something quickly alright?" Harry adds.

 

Louis sighs.

 

"I suppose."

 

Louis finger-combs his hair as they hover away from the bedroom.

 

"No WAG then?" Harry asks, voice and gaze low.

 

Louis snorts.

 

"My team know I'm gay but I haven't come out to the world at large yet." he admits.

 

Harry's expression softens. All the bluster he'd thrown at Louis after Louis saved him from the mud seems to have melted away. Louis can't help staring at him even in the low light of the tent the man is still incredibly beautiful.

 

"Why not?"

 

"Soccer and homosexuality don't really mix," Louis explains. Then he adds more quietly, "Did you know who I was? Like did you recognise me?"

 

Harry's smile ventures back onto his too-pink lips.

 

"No. I'm not a footie fan really."

 

"What are you a fan of?" Louis wonders.

 

Harry gives him a long dark stare and a dirty smirk.

 

"I might become a fan of the beloved game you know?"

 

Louis should be blushing but he finds himself smiling back.

 

"I can get you VIP box tickets you know."

 

Harry tucks back a bit of Louis' errant fringe.

 

"Let's talk about that in the morning." he suggests. "Are you okay to bunk in with me?"

 

Louis' brow furrows.

 

"You're going to let me sleep here?"

 

Harry looks mildly offended.

 

"You can't go out in the rain..."

 

"Don't you want to know _why_ I'm here?"

 

Harry blinks.

 

He's wearing checked pyjamas pants that slouch off him and a thin semi sheer cotton tee-shirt that has holes in it. Louis' been trying to decipher his tattoos for the last ten minutes from beneath the material.

 

It's warm in the tent and it's nice not to be wet through but Louis finds it weird that Harry hasn't got more questions.

 

"I'm just happy you are," Harry says.

 

And is that-?

 

Is it-

 

"Come on," Harry prompts, taking Louis' hand to lead him. "Let's get some sleep."

 

//

 

His hair smells of patchouli. The dreadlocks are quite rough and hard against his cheek but there's a soft patch of hair which is untreated right in the back that Louis noses into. 

 

He's not sure what he expected, it's probably horribly presumptive to think he'd smell of sweat or greasy hair but somehow Louis had expected that because they're at a festival and it's been raining all day.

 

Harry smells like patchouli and something else a lot like marshmallows. He's also incredibly warm so Louis has somewhat plastered his front to Harry's back.

 

He fidgets, slipping an arm over Harry's side and pressing his palm into Harry's chest where Harry's own arms are bent up. He has to burrow his hand a bit but when their legs tangle together it's a nice feeling.

 

"Hmm."

 

Louis arches a brow at Harry's deep throated hum.

 

He has a sudden wild urge to kiss the back of Harry's neck, to twirl that soft baby hair around his fingers.

 

He sighs, settling his cheek back into the rough braids in Harry's hair.

 

He's hugging a hippie and he's never been happier. It says a lot for his life.

 

//

 

They take it in turns to cook at the commune. The guys who had bothered Louis last night wisely stay away and he chops mushrooms while Harry cooks things over a gas stove.

 

Louis has never made his own breakfast before; it's both exhilarating and tiring.

 

He sags a bit around half an hour later, giving off a sleepy yawn and scratching fingers over his scalp.

 

"I snuck this for you." A voice murmurs in his ear.

 

He turns to find Harry there in a cheesecloth shirt and flares, a sheepskin waistcoat over the shirt and a new pair of boots on his feet. Pretty boots.

 

He slides on the knitted hat that's handed to him.

 

"You're not wearing another pair of them shoes after yesterday are you?" He muses.

 

Harry stiffens.

 

"What's wrong with my shoes?"

 

"They're no contender for the mud, Harold," Louis points out. "Haven't you got wellies?"

 

Harry rolls his eyes.

 

"Don't like Wellingtons," Harry mumbles.

 

"No, bet you look like a proper posh farmer in wellies..." Louis teases.

 

Harry sticks his tongue out.

 

"Do you want me to spit on your food or are you going to be nice?" Harry asks sweetly, two beautiful dimples popping into his cheeks.

 

Louis smiles at him faintly.

 

"I'll be nice," he promises.

 

Harry shoots him a disbelieving glance.

 

"Only because you want extra helpings."

 

Louis all-out grins. His shoulders slide up by his ears.

 

"That's a terrible accusation to make."

 

Harry arches one brow.

 

"But accurate," he argues and Louis doesn't correct him, he just smiles into his pan of mushrooms.

 

//

 

Soon after breakfast it starts raining again and Louis dons his now partially-dried clothes, awkwardly hanging around once he's folded Harry's extra clothing, hoping to see the tall man before he goes in search of Stan.

 

He's about to give up (on the assumption that Harry has a secret equally beautiful husband) when Harry appears.

 

With a devastatingly handsome punk in tow. 

 

He's Asian and small like Louis but his hair is in a mo-hawk and he has piercings in his ears, brow, nose _and_ lip.

 

"Hey man." The vision greets.

 

"Hey." Louis swallows, eyes darting to Harry.

 

Harry's looking anywhere but at him, long deft fingers collecting up his hair to tie the top part back.

 

"This is my friend." He says. "Zayn."

 

Louis lifts his brows.

 

"I'm Louis."

 

"I know who you are, bro. Why do you think I made Harry bring me over?"

 

Louis relaxes a bit.

 

"You're the second hippie who recognises me...who knew..."

 

"I'm not a hippie," Zayn denies quickly.

 

They stand in awkward silence for a minute.

 

"So uh...what can I do for you?"

 

When Louis looks at Harry again he's pouting. Much like the day Louis had met him. _Yesterday in fact_. Louis feels like he's known Harry at least a full week and the reminder he's only known him twenty four hours is startling.

 

Zayn's begun to speak though, so he turns his attention back to the other man; mildly amused at Harry in his peripherals pulling on a cagoule.

 

"...so I wondered if it would be alright if I got a selfie with you?"

 

Zayn looks at him expectantly with huge Bambi eyes and dark curly lashes.

 

Louis is pretty sure he looks the worst he's ever looked this weekend but he's never said no to a fan picture.

 

"Sure, come on," he gestures Zayn to tuck into his side and drapes an arm around his shoulders.

 

"Haz, can you...?" Zayn holds up his phone for Harry to take.

 

Harry frowns.

 

"You force me to introduce you to my new friend with the sole intent to get a photo with my full disapproval and now you think I'm going to take the bloody photograph?" He throws out his hands and drops them on his thighs.

 

Zayn makes a stupid face.

 

"Calm your tits, Haz, he said its ok."

 

"He's _my_ friend," Harry mutters but neither man hears it clearly, only the reluctant sigh as Harry moves into position.

 

Louis winks as Harry gets the camera into focus.

 

"Cheer up, beautiful," Louis says without thinking.

 

He clears his throat at the compliment and tries to tear his eyes away from Harry's absolutely disgustingly dimpled smile that's hidden behind the camera. He's still staring when Harry finally looks up.

 

"Are you both ready?" He asks.

 

Zayn huffs.

 

"Been ready for ten minutes, hurry up..."

 

Louis gives a wide toothy smile and trademark pointed finger at Zayn while Harry snaps what feels like a hundred pictures.

 

"You should get one, Haz," Zayn says as he mooches away from Louis.

 

Harry freezes.

 

"No, I think I'm ok thanks."

 

"Just for like...A memento," Zayn encourages.

 

Louis slides gentle fingers around Harry's wrist.

 

"Come on, Hazza...just do one with me yeah?"

 

_Hazza?_

 

Why does that ridiculous name make Harry shiver all over?

 

He looks insane in his wet weather gear but he leans in, arm curling around the smaller man beside him. For some reason he doesn't let go when Zayn shows him the shot for approval.

 

Louis doesn't mention Harry's over familiarity either.

 

The picture of them is actually quite lovely and Zayn snags Louis' number; promising to send him a copy. 

 

"Stop stealing my friend," Harry tells him as he turns them towards the plastic doors of the tent 

 

Louis tightens his arm around Harry's back and softly butts his head into his shoulder.

 

"Come on then Princess. Music to hear, beer to drink..."

 

Harry gasps in indignation; Louis breaking away to make a sprint for it only for Harry to move up behind him surprisingly fast.

 

"I'm not a bloody princess, Louis! Take that back!"

 

Louis runs circles around him and ducks his arms, deciding that burrowing into his frankly laughable cagoule is the only method of protection.

 

He's just sliding cold fingers against Harry's ribs when he hears his name.

 

"Tommo!"

 

Louis wriggles out of Harry's coat, straightening his hat.

 

"Stan!" he grins 

 

He has no idea how his team-mate recognised him but he moves to hug him largely.

 

"Where've you been dude?" Stan asks.

 

Louis turns back to gesture to Harry. Harry who's frowning like a petulant child with dark eyes.

 

"With Harry. He rescued me from some dickhead who tried it on..."

 

Stan's gaze flicks to the taller, bohemian man. He tilts his head.

 

"Are those...like dreads?" He asks, circling a finger near his own temple.

 

"Yeah," Harry supplies quietly. "They are."

 

"Do they smell? Like you don't wash it do you? Your hair must stin-"

 

Louis kicks Stan swiftly in the calf (be dammed the team) and growls something at him that Harry doesn't catch.

 

"His hair smells lovely," he says for the benefit of anyone else listening. "I happen to like it."

 

Stan frowns up at his friend from rubbing his sore calf.

 

"Wait till coach hears about this."

 

Louis shrugs.

 

"Don't be a dick and you don't get hurt. It's quite simple mate."

 

"Did you fuck?" Stan asks crudely, causing Harry to frown; his lips pushing downwards unhappily.

 

Louis remembers why he didn't want to come to this place now but--

 

 _Well_. He _has_ met Harry.

 

A very cute (if moody) deeply layered human being with the most incredible eyes, soft perfect pink lips and hair that looks great for tugging during sex (and generally handling altogether).

 

"Top or bottom?" Stan asks Harry nosily while Louis balls his fists.

 

"Fuck off St-"

 

"Bottom." Harry replies bold as brass to Louis' friend.

 

"Figured." He smirks. 

 

"You?" Harry asks back dead pan.

 

Louis snorts, converting into giggles. Stan gets flustered and heads for the beer tent leaving Louis with his new friend.

 

Louis cowers a bit when he notices three girls taking pictures of him on their phones and he opens his mouth to stutter an excuse out to Harry to thank him for his over generous hospitality and apologise for his unknowing infamy which will result from them being seen together....Only Harry's already grasping his hand and pulling him away.

 

Away from the music and the noise, away from people who recognise him, away from the alcohol tent and the man who's supposed to be his best friend.

 

"Where are we going?" Louis asks. just in case Harry's a serial killer and Louis' his next victim and-

 

"Somewhere quiet," Harry answers.

 

//

 

"What the fuck is a meditation tent?"

 

Louis makes a face as Harry unzips his boots (already caked in mud) and heels them off.

 

"Shh, Lou. We need to sit quietly in here ok?"

 

Louis wants to argue but he also wants to try being quiet for five minutes. He slips his wellies off and pads into the comfortingly warm tent, only two people in there, one who is practising yoga while a CD plays the sounds of running water and bird song.

 

"I need to pee," he whispers to Harry.

 

Harry elbows him with a sharp 'shh' that has Louis biting his lip as he tiptoes in. He can't help his faint giggle as they sit knee to knee with their legs crossed.

 

"Now what?" He demands bluntly.

 

Harry rests the backs of his hands on his knees, settling his bum a bit.

 

"Bit sore?" Louis smirks.

 

His mind conjures up several images of Harry- front down and on all fours mostly- and his heart thuds a bit too hard.

 

If only Harry wasn't wildly attractive then-

 

"No I'm not sore," he snaps. "Not only have I been single for a year but it's not like the babe pool is exactly full of quality stock in the commune you know."

 

Louis purses his lips and mirrors Harry's pose, taking off his hat and flicking his fringe out of his eye. When it falls back into his vision, Harry reaches to train it back persistently. Somehow he gets it to tack behind his ear.

 

"I've been single for a while too," Louis offers on a swallow.

 

Harry glances at him.

 

"Thought you footballers were having it away every night..."

 

Louis grimaces.

 

"Maybe if it's okay to be seen as a lothario. For me everything has to be a secret...I have to hide it from the world and who wants that really? Who wants to be a shameful secret?"

 

"It's not shameful to be gay, Lou."

 

"Tell the FA that. They hate press about players unless it's heterosexual narrative..."

 

Harry turns his hands and brushes the fingers of one hand gently against Louis'.

 

"You could do so many positive things by coming out. And if you don't want to then-" Harry pauses and Louis looks up.

 

He's surprised by the wide green eyes staring at him.

 

"If you don't then someone will still love you enough to hide for you," Harry assures.

 

The tip of Louis' mouth pulls upwards a bit.

 

"I'm worth hiding for?" He muses.

 

Harry nods.

 

"Absolutely."

 

"You don't even know me," Louis points out softly, wanting to disregard Harry's words. He knows only too well how hard it is to find someone who understands his job.

 

Harry smiles though, knowing and smug.

 

"I see you, Louis Tomlinson."

 

Louis squeezes Harry's hands as he gasps.

 

"What do you see, oh wise one?" 

 

Harry laughs at the title and licks his lips.

 

"Well. You're loyal. And selfless. You do anything to help others and you'll try anything once...you don't judge people by how they look-"

 

"Oh I do Harold," Louis cuts him off with a fidget and a blush. "I'm judging your white boy dreadlocks right now..."

 

Harry's runs his fingers over a twist of hair self consciously.

 

Harry pushes his lips into a kissy shape in some kind of attempt at redeeming his life choices.

 

Louis grins, obsessed with Harry's lips among his other features.

 

"I know a bit about you too," Louis adds into the slow silence.

 

Harry's head lifts, his brows arched in prompt.

 

"You're stubborn and argumentative and you appear to have zero fashion sense-"

 

"Hey!"

 

Louis scowls as someone hisses at them to "shush".

 

He leans forward, fingers now stroking fleetingly against Harry's.

 

"You're also very sweet and surprisingly easy to talk to. You're warm and-" Louis swallows. His tongue feels thick.

 

Harry's breathing is slow and steady and his nostrils flare. His eyes are intense and his hands are lovely- big and smooth around Louis'.

 

"And?" Harry's breath catches, his heart squeezes in anticipation.

 

Louis sighs.

 

"I'm glad we met, I guess," he manages awkwardly. "I'm glad you were stuck in the mud."

 

"Not sure my knee agrees with you," Harry jokes of the joint he's been limping on, but the injury is thanks to too much dancing as opposed to Louis' actions.

 

"What about your head? Does that agree with me?" Louis wonders.

 

Harry smiles. It's slow and it's perfect but it's Harry so Louis doesn't mind.

 

"I think it's glad too." He mumbles quietly, dipping his chin.

 

He can't hide behind his dreads because they're tied up. 

 

"Just _think_ so huh?" 

 

Louis resettles on his behind, lacing his fingers with Harry's slowly, precisely. Harry peeks at him.

 

"Maybe I can work on that?"

 

Harry offers him a sweet smile.

 

"My head is open to offers," He allows. "As is my heart..."

 

Louis quickly hides his smile.

 

"That's good to know Harold. Interesting information."

 

Harry rubs his thumbs over Louis' hands.

 

"Shall we try some meditation?"

 

Louis squints.

 

"Is it some kind of mind trick?"

 

Harry barks out some laughter. 

 

"Just breathe, Lou. Nice and deep..."

 

Louis smirks.

 

"I can do deep..."

 

Harry shifts a bit. His voice is low when he speaks.

 

"Are you breathing?"

 

"I hope so," Louis quips.

 

"In for seven seconds....One, two, three-"

 

Louis starts his in breath a second late and smiles to himself as Harry counts him up. He releases his breath and counts out for eleven seconds, as instructed by Harry.

 

His cigarette-damaged lungs stutter to a halt and he segues into a coughing fit.

 

Harry's hand breaks from his to curl around his knee caringly. 

 

"You should consider packing in the cigarettes you know..."

 

When Louis recovers from his coughing fit he presses a fisted hand to his chest with a wheeze. Sometimes he wonders how he gets through ninety minutes of running every weekend.

 

"You might be right."

 

Harry's other hand encompasses Louis' elbow on the opposite side of his body. 

 

"You could have caught an infection being cold and wet half the night."

 

Louis feels strangely safe in Harry's circle, knee to knee and gaze to gaze. He feels a familiar tingle flutter over his skin but it's accompanied by a warmth that's uniquely inspired by Harry.

 

"Kinda sexy..." he murmurs of the feeling, lips tugging up in the corners.

 

Harry's brows furrow.

 

"Who?" He asks, confused.

 

Harry turns to look over his shoulder and at that same moment, Zayn creeps into the tent.

 

"Zayn?" Harry questions, lips pushing downwards unhappily. "Yeah I guess he is..."

 

Louis opens his mouth instantly to correct Harry's misconception but Zayn's grinning and hurrying their way, talking before Louis can catch his wits.

 

"You're missing Coldplay! _Coldplay_ dude!" Zayn enthuses to Harry.

 

Harry nods and starts to get up, leaving Louis cross legged on the floor.

 

Zayn stares at him.

 

"Aren't you coming?"

 

Louis opens his mouth again, eyes flicking to Harry.

 

"Hazza? You okay if I tag along?"

 

Harry swallows, eyes sliding to Zayn for a long moment and then back to Louis when his friend shrugs.

 

"Sure," he agrees but it's weak and Louis' annoyed that Harry's so unaware of his own attractiveness that he assumed Louis was talking about Zayn being the sexy one.

 

He makes it his mission to change Harry's mind before the day is through.

 

//

 

 

The first thing Louis does is grab Harry's hand when they come to a stop near the stage; a position Zayn has tunnelled them into.

 

Luckily most of the revellers are good-natured and don't argue about them pushing to the front. Louis gets recognised by one guy and he allows a quick selfie before he's settling himself into Harry's side, clutching his hand firmly.

 

Harry frowns down at him but doesn't remove his hand from Louis' grasp.

 

Louis watches Harry relax into the music, tall body swaying and lips whispering out the words. Louis starts to sing along in the hope it encourages the other man to join in; but his trick doesn't work because Harry just twists to stare at him with a scrunch of his nose and a furrow between his brows, luminescent eyes avidly searching his face.

 

"You can sing?" Harry asks eventually.

 

Louis' mouth seals shut.

 

"Er...not really."

 

Harry squeezes his hand.

 

"Let me rephrase. You can sing."

 

Louis looks to his wellies, cheeks tingeing pink.

 

"Nah."

 

Harry leans down, smile playing at his lips, a lull in the music giving him the perfect opportunity.

 

" _Sat on a roof Named every star and Showed me a place Where you can be who you are_..."

 

Louis' breath hitches as he stills, the tickle of Harry's hair brushing his skin, the warmth of his breath; the faint smell of patchouli and the caramel coffee he's consumed wafting over him. He dares a look into Harry's eyes. He hasn't even launched into phase 2 of his plan (to ignore Zayn) and he thinks Harry knows already how smitten he is after only a day and a half.

 

"It's not Zayn I was talking about." He ventures bravely; heart thumping hard in his chest.

 

It's a big confession to a guy he barely knows but it's also a festival and this is what people do, they fall in love in a day and never see each other again afterwards.

 

Harry swallows, turning in towards Louis, arm slipping around his waist. Louis lifts his chin, confused, thinking Harry's leaning in to-

 

He's really, truly going to-

 

"Oi you two!" Zayn's voice cuts in just as Harry's lashes press to his cheeks.

 

Louis freezes as Harry straightens, stepping back.

 

"Zayn," Harry clears his throat. "Sorry man... _sorry_..."

 

Louis lets go of Harry's hand as the other man tugs it away.

 

"Zayn," Harry says again, pleadingly.

 

Zayn's eyes flick between them suspiciously.

 

"If you two want to go an' fuck then just disappear, yeah?"

 

Louis' eyes widen and his breath rushes out of his lungs because-

 

"No, that's not what-I wasn't..!" He defends himself, offended by the accusation.

 

"You're a footie guy aren't you? Thought you all had an unwritten code? Bevy of babes at every stadium..."

 

Louis' face changes from bewildered to horrified. He blinks a few times to check his vitals are still working. He moves his arms and then scuffs his feet, to check he can still move, that this isn't some horrible dream where both his and Harry's friends turn into absolute assholes who hate them both.

 

He feels numb, feels a pain rushing up in his chest that could be a heart attack or something not even close but whatever it is, it's the knowing pain of despair that engulfs him, of judgment cast and opinions set.

 

It wouldn't matter if Louis was a virgin angel because some people in the world would still deem him a liar and paint him out to be a careless heartbreaker.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, something true, something about how he's only ever had two boyfriends and neither of them were one night stands, but he knows the words and the energy that it will take to say them are wasted. Zayn's mind is already made up.

 

Instead, he twists his lips sadly.

 

"Actually there's no bevy of babes anywhere," he whispers quietly to himself. "Just little ol' me."

 

He forces a smile.

 

"Thanks for having me guys. See you around."

 

Louis turns and threads himself among the crowd.

 

//

 

CHAPTER 2

 

"You're such a drama queen."

 

Louis' nursing a bourbon (a French reveler had taken pity on him and had half-filled a plastic cup. A pint sized cup).

 

Louis opens his mouth but a hiccup shoots out. Harry looks warm, bundled up in a white snow-jacket with a furry hood.

 

"New coat?" Louis asks. He thinks it's probably a bit slurred.

 

Harry tilts his head. His dreadlocks are still tied back.

 

"Can you let your hair out now?" Louis adds.

 

Harry smiles and moves forwards, untangling the fixture from his hair. He folds himself next to Louis on the worn sofa that's been dragged next to the camp-fire where an array of people are draped.

 

Harry looks around the circle, eyes going over each shape.

 

"Do you know any of these people?"

 

"They- _hic_ -gave me bourbon!" Louis lifts his plastic cup as evidence. "Ruddy nice it is, too."

 

"Pardon, monsieur. Vous souhaitez une boisson?" The French reveler offers Harry a drink.

 

"Non, merci," Harry declines politely (fluently), shifting so that his arm curls around Louis' shoulders.

 

Louis thinks to his (drunk) self that it's a bit of a claiming gesture until he notices the dark, interested gaze of a girl across from him. Perhaps she recognises him, maybe not but she turns her face away when she surmises that Louis is in fact, with Harry.

 

Louis rubs his cheek into the smooth polyester coat.

 

"Where's your pretty jacket from then, hm?" His head happens to loll back against Harry's shoulder which is terribly handy because Louis can't seem to lift his head of his own accord.

 

Harry's puff of laughter expels into the fluff circling the hood, his dimples appearing quickly. Louis crosses his eyes, finding it necessary to poke one of the pools.

 

"Someone gave it to me," He replies mysteriously.

 

"Oh? You found another sugar-daddy did you?" Louis sniffs, sipping more bourbon.

 

Harry tugs the plastic cup but Louis doesn't let it slip from his fingers until he's taken another slosh; the cup clipping his tooth as Harry yanks it away.

 

"Think you've had quite enough to drink, don't you?"

 

"No!" Louis argues, minutely angry, scrabbling for his drink.

 

He gasps when Harry throws it at the fire, causing a mini-flare up.

 

"Makes good gasoline," Harry comments.

 

Louis pouts and folds his arms. He doesn't snuggle into Harry's side. He _doesn't_.

 

"Tell me why you walked away," Harry asks; but it's gentle and slow like a dream. It's accompanied by the brush of something infinitely soft against Louis' brow. Like rose petals.

 

"I'm not a fucking dick," Louis growls, shifting uneasily but realizing he is too comfortable to actually move. "I don't just like...fuck people and not care. I'm not like that."

 

Harry smiles faintly to himself, flames flickering in the pupils of his eyes.

 

"What _are_ you like?"

 

Louis frowns. He's never been given the chance to explain. Never been _asked_. He's not sure he has the right words to cover it.

 

"I care," he mumbles. "I'm loyal. Too loyal sometimes. So _I'm_ the one who ends up getting hurt."

 

Harry's head tilts to rest on top of his, those thick, spider-leg dreads falling against Louis' scalp.

 

"I'm sorry that you've been hurt before, Louis."

 

Louis huffs, fingers reaching for the forbidden bourbon bottle lodged several feet away in the hope it will magically slide towards him.

 

"Hey," Harry grabs for his wayward hand and tucks it between his own thighs.

 

Louis notices how warm it is; how tightly his fingers are sandwiched.

 

"Your hands are freezing," Harry complains then, slipping off his own disgustingly striped gloves to pull them onto Louis' smaller hands.

 

Louis lets him dress his free hand but refuses to move the warmed one from its coveted spot between Harry's legs.

 

Harry grins at him, twisting a bit, clamping his legs together.

 

"Warm enough?"

 

Louis rolls his head back, eyes heavy with inebriation and sleep, pushing his lips into a kiss-like pose which he presses into Harry's stubbled chin.

 

"Don't tell the papra-papratsi-"

 

"I bet you say that to all the boys," Harry murmurs, turning his own face to kiss Louis' cheek in return.

 

Louis is shaking his head vehemently but his eyes have flickered shut.

 

"Not allowed to kiss the boys," he mumbles and Harry's heart clenches at the confession.

 

"Go to sleep, lush." He goes with, cradling Louis close.

 

//

 

 

"Hey man."

 

Zayn's chocolate eyes are full of apology as Harry walks Louis back into the commune at breakfast serving, arm supportive around his waist.

 

Louis allows his lips to flatten.

 

"Hey."

 

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he says, looking at Harry quickly, then back to Louis. "I was just pissed that Harry was dropping me for a cooler, hotter guy."

 

Louis' bourbon-soaked brain gets muddled.

 

"You and Harry...?"

 

"No, I mean. He's my bestie," Zayn explains quietly. "Thought I'd see more of him this weekend."

 

Louis licks his lips. They feel parched.

 

"Where's the bathroom?" He asks, needing to pee.

 

Zayn points him the right way but Harry arches a brow, moving off with Louis to steady him.

 

"Hey, we're cool," Louis remembers to add over his shoulder. "I'll get you some tickets," he adds.

 

Zayn tells him to _fuck off_ and Louis knows it's because none of these people want his fame or money. It's a strange feeling but one he's getting too quickly used to in a world where it's become the norm.

 

Harry helps Louis to the makeshift bathroom and steps away carefully.

 

"We can sleep after if you want," Harry tells him.

 

Louis nods and grabs a towel with a sleepy yawn.

 

//

 

"Mm-" Louis curls onto his side, his cheek rubbing into warm, spicy skin.

 

It's hard under his ear and it earns a huffed chuckle.

 

Harry had sneaked one of the private rooms in the big tent to themselves; sleeping without constant interruptions.

 

Louis' got his arms folded, legs kicked about and he realises, slowly, that it's Harry's bicep acting as his pillow, the hippie's arms folded under his own head.

 

Louis' soft hair is tickling his arm-pit apparently and-

 

Louis' nose dives into the soft hair spiking there, earning a sniff of partly-sweaty, partly-clean man.

 

 _Harry's naked_.

 

Louis' eyes fly open.

 

Harry's not naked. _Fuck_. He's merely topless. He has on the most ridiculously soft, Nordic-print leggings (long-johns Harry corrects him later) and-

 

And _nothing_ _else_.

 

"Hi."

 

"Hi?" Louis squeaks, scrambling onto his elbow to openly glare at Harry's chest.

 

Stare in menacing offense, that is. Not like-not stare in a creepy fucking perverted way. Not--- _fuck_.

 

"You have-" Louis' voice croaks out, his fingers moving before his brain, tracing over a selection of the tattoos adorning Harry's chest.

 

"Oh," Harry curls in on himself with a shy smile as Louis' exploring digits float over the metal of his nipple-bar, causing the skin to pucker.

 

Louis' eyes immediately dart to Harry's.

 

"I-" Harry swallows, one hand unfurling from under his head to drape nonchalantly over his groin.

 

His groin which Louis has not missed, his package bulging nicely through the warm fuzzy material of his leggings.

 

"Shy, Harold?" Louis murmurs in the softest, raspiest voice.

 

Harry blinks, green eyes wide and luminous.

 

"Not really..." He lets his hand fall away and Louis can make out the shape of his dick. It's not even a semi, but-

 

Louis shifts a bit, anchoring his knee over Harry's thigh as he rolls into his side, lips ducking to tug on the metal bar that spears Harry's nipple; just out of sheer curiosity.

 

"I don't think that's-" Harry's voice stutters out with a gasped, "L-Louis!"

 

Louis smiles, finally realising how he's wanted his name to sound from someone else's lips. Just like _that_ , urgent and soft and wanting. Fuck it all to hell. Who says you can't fall in love in one day? Louis has found his husband and he's going to take this as far as Harry will let him.

 

He kisses the sensitive skin of Harry's nipple. licking at the area surrounding it, biting softly and grasping the bar between his teeth carefully, pulling only a fraction for the desired effect.

 

"Oh! Oh--god," Harry groans, his hand pressing back against his dick until Louis gets between his thighs and grinds his hips a bit; lips pressing kisses down Harry's sternum carefully.

 

"Please," Louis hears him whisper, ignoring it in favour of sucking a bite into his ribs.

 

When the soft, begging cry comes again, Louis looks up.

 

Harry's fingers are curling around Louis' arms, pulling at him so Louis moves, carefully so as not to hurt him, straddling one of his thighs. He rests his weight on his hands, then bends his elbows when Harry cups the back of his neck. Louis slides a bit against his body, settling against him.

 

"Please, what?" Louis asks, fingering his hair, the thick, crunchy twirls.

 

Harry swallows.

 

"Kiss me?" He asks, the tiniest dig forming above his eyebrow vulnerably. "Please?"

 

Louis' gaze flicks between Harry's eyes, dipping to his mouth, his own lips forming the tiniest smile.

 

"Yeah?"

 

Harry lets out a panicked throaty whimper, like Louis might actually _not_ kiss him and that just won't do, really, that's just-

 

 _Insanity_.

 

Louis brushes his lips against Harry's, checking his first reaction. Harry's pupils actually flare.

 

_Fucking hell..._

 

It changes a bit then, Harry's arms wrapping hard around him and Louis tilting his head to kiss him better, tongue deepening the union and the thought crosses Louis' mind that their first kiss could have been so hot if they'd been arguing still; in a thunderstorm, struck closely by lightening but this-- _this_ was somehow, strangely- even hotter.

 

The electric spark igniting between them is undeniable and Louis' hips move of their own accord, pushing into Harry's ,earning another moan. Louis has never kissed a muddy, grass-stained, fresh- outdoors hippie before but _Jesus_ , was his life the poorer for it.

 

Harry's lips are pure sin, soft and biting and--suckable. So damn suckable. Louis is maybe addicted and he'll never get enough. He plunges his fingers into Harry's twisted hair, grasping handfuls and moving them slightly to better the angle, to kiss him harder as he grinds his hips again, an excited gasp shocked from his own lips as his dick springs to life.

 

"God, Lou," Harry whispers urgently under him. "Can you try and have some self respect?"

 

Louis kisses him quiet, pressing a firm kiss to his lips before slowing the pace, sucking deeper, softer kisses from Harry's now-swollen lips.

 

Louis presses into him again, circling rather than rutting. Harry's hard against his hip and he breaks the kiss to let out a throaty growl.

 

Louis smirks, lips pressing into the stubble on Harry's chin.

 

"Hm?" He rocks his hips again, catching Harry's breath. "What was that about self-respect?"

 

Harry slides long fingers into the back of Louis' hair and tugs and that's it, Louis absolutely has to suck a love-bite into his belly, it's just too much to expect him not to.

 

He dips his chin, wriggling down to Harry's soft whines of protest, soon replaced by gasps of pleasured shock as Louis leaves a lovely bruised love-mark on the sensitive skin of his abdomen.

 

"Guess that's my cropped tops out for the rest of the-"

 

Harry doesn't get to finish because Louis surges back up to quiet him again, brushing their lips together lightly; his fringe falling softly down into Harry's face.

 

"It's winter, you fool," Louis whispers, kissing him tenderly, just his upper lip where it bows. Harry's eyes blink lazily open as he half-heartedly kisses back.

 

"I get hot," Harry defends weakly, sliding his arms around Louis' waist from where he'd surrendered them above his head.

 

"Don't we know it," Louis smiles, rubbing against him again.

 

Harry lets Louis suck on his lower lip.

 

"Can we-"

 

"Hm?" Louis licks his upper lip before suckling on it again.

 

Harry finds it hard to talk with a petite brunette monopolizing his mouth.

 

"I don't want this to be-"

 

Louis stills in his arms, brushing their noses together and smiling quizzically into his face.

 

"What's that Harold?"

 

"I don't want to be a one night stand." Harry finally works up the courage to say.

 

Louis swallows. He doesn't want Harry to be his first one night stand, either but-

 

"We're from different worlds, H," Louis whispers. "My world would trample over yours."

 

Harry's lips turn downwards like they do when he's unhappy.

 

"Then let's not do this," Harry begs quietly.

 

Louis rolls his hips, chest aching from the loss already.

 

"We already are."

 

Harry blinks at him and nods, biting his lip.

 

"Okay. Will you go on top?"

 

Louis doesn't like the way Harry's suddenly avoiding his gaze, the way he's moving as though he's going to just roll onto his belly so Louis can have his wicked way with him. Louis gets onto his knees and curves his hands around Harry's thighs, holding him there for a moment.

 

When Harry finally meets his gaze, Louis leans over, one hand pressing against the ground to steady himself as he entices Harry into another deep and loving kiss.

 

"Baby, ride me," Louis whispers into his ear, sucking kisses into his skin. "On my lap?"

 

Harry moans an agreement, segueing into another kiss as they undress from their remaining clothes slowly. It takes too long for Harry to dig out lube and a condom, takes Louis a few attempts with a shaky hand to bring himself back to full-mast once Harry throws the items his way.

 

It takes Louis a long, long time (way too long in Harry's opinion) to open him up to take Louis inside.

 

"Stop fucking teasing me," Harry gasps, cheeks flushed as he pushes his hips off the ground, onto Louis' probing digits.

 

Louis strokes him nicely inside.

 

"I told you. This means something to me," Louis murmurs gently and Harry pulls him down for another kiss, their lips ravaged by the amount they've done today.

 

Louis sits with his back propped up by pillows while Harry carefully climbs into his lap, nudging up to reach back and grasp Louis' shaft.

 

It's as Harry's carefully lowering himself down that Louis tightens his arms around him; kissing against his jaw and he hears Harry's fast-cast breaths and the scratch in his throat from trying to hide his pleasure.

 

"Fuck, can you let me...?" He mutters, easing down quickly, clenching in delight at the hot fullness stretching his rim. "Oh..."

 

Louis swallows, holding his breath, nosing at Harry's jaw.

 

"Oh?" He rasps. "As in, ' _oh is that all?'_ Or oh as in-"

 

Harry grinds down, lets out a pleased noise from his throat. He clutches at Louis' heat inside him.

 

"As in," he practically growls into Louis' ear. His voice lowers. "Oh...oh, fuck. Oh fuck, you feel so good....oh, god that's so hot. So-"

 

"Okay, okay," Louis scrambles to shut him up with smudged kisses, feeling Harry bounce on his dick.

 

"Oh!" Harry cries loudly, a bloody great grin on his face as he takes great joy in teasing Louis in the worst moment when he feels like he might come right this second just from-

 

"Oh! Oh, oh...!"

 

"Shh," Louis bites his chin in reprimand. "You'll have people thinking I'm bloody-"

 

Harry lifts himself, biting his lip. He pauses, meets Louis gaze and then kisses him, slowly like before. He sinks down, screwing himself onto Louis' thickness.

 

"Oh," he rumbles against Louis' ear, bucking twice. "Oh, oh..."

 

Louis hisses for him to 'shut up' but Harry merely groans and lets out a high-pitched whine when he unwraps his arms from Louis' shoulders and leans back in his lap. Louis loosens his arms around Harry's waist  a little to watch him, unable to resist kissing over his chest, paying particular attention to his nipples. His tongue flicks across the non-pierced one.

 

"Fuck...I need a bar in that one too," Harry whispers, making desperate sounds as he bounces on Louis' dick.

 

Louis grazes his beard against Harry's chest, leaving  a pretty burning blush behind on the skin. He grasps Harry's waist and pulses his hips, pulling Harry onto him slightly.

 

"O-oh," Harry stutters and this time Louis knows he's not acting, that was a sound which was of genuine surprise.

 

"Yeah?" Louis repeats the action, unfolding his legs enough to press his feet to the ground, giving him extra leverage.

 

"No," Harry whispers, body going lax against Louis as Louis takes control. "No, no-"

 

"Do you _mean_ no?" Louis murmurs in his ear as Harry rag-dolls against him, arms looping like spaghetti back around his neck.

 

"I mean yes," Harry clarifies, crying out as Louis' small hands grasp into his sides. "Yes!"

 

Louis presses his forehead to Harry's throat.

 

"Your whole fucking commune are gonna think I'm a sex-god in bed or something... _shush_ , Harold..."

 

Harry's hands fix around Louis' head to grasp him tightly for a meaningful kiss, one that goes right to Louis' very core as Harry's desire heightens with the union and Louis may not have understood why Harry needed to kiss him so badly when he started but now that Harry's lips are slowing and so are his hips, its becoming very obvious.

 

Louis is racking his brain wondering what Harry needs to push him over the precipice he's currently riding, living out each pleasurable moment and he's not sure, he doesn't want to get it wrong so he clutches his hands against Harry's back and whispers, _'Yes Harry'_ against his lips before Harry finally lets go in more ways than one.

 

It's a beautiful hot, sticky splash of semen over his chest and arms as Harry comes around him, Louis still deep as Harry pushes down on him, wanting to get him as tight as possible inside apparently. Louis waits until he's gasped his last pleasured breath before sliding out; releasing into the crack of Harry's ass with choked-out relief.

 

Louis bands his arms around Harry as he sags forward with a sated sigh.

 

Louis carefully maneuvers them; grabbing his cast away t-shirt to wipe up the majority of the sticky mess they've made.

 

Harry's strangely clingy after sex; clumsily looping his arms around Louis' neck and nosing into his throat.

 

"Hey," Louis welcomes him with a soft hum. "God, that was incredible..."

 

Harry mumbles a sleepy response, soft breaths already fanning out over Louis' throat.

 

Louis tightens his hold a bit.

 

//

 

Louis knows it's not good news when Stan wakes him from spooning Harry to take him outside of the tent to talk.

 

The field is still foggy; the grass littered with refuse and the stage silent; looming in the distance.

 

Louis had pulled on one of Harry's ugly stretched-out jumpers before creeping out; the lilac colour pale in the low morning light.

 

"What's going on?" Louis asks as he folds his arms and hops from bare foot to bare foot; having pulled on boxers to cover his modesty but not much else.

 

"You're in the papers, Tommo," Stan informs him with a sigh, turning his cell-phone screen towards Louis to show him the front page.

 

**_Tommo's boy-balls control!_ **

 

Louis screws up his face, swallowing hard.

 

"Who wrote this shit, the Daily Mail?" He accuses.

 

Stan grips his shoulder.

 

"They got a picture of you from the other night. With Harry."

 

Louis' blood runs cold at the last two words and he snatches the phone to focus on the photo they've used, his heart easing only slightly from it's panicked seizure when he sees they've smudged out Harry's features.

 

His eyes race through the words printed there, about how the girl who had observed them had tried it on with Louis only to be rejected in favour of a boy; who he then apparently sucked off right in front of her eyes.

 

Louis gives Stan a snarl.

 

"It's all fucking lies."

 

The picture only shows he and Harry huddled together after Louis had consumed too much bourbon and the only thing that strikes Louis about the picture was how heart-breakingly good they looked together. How caring Harry was, cuddling him in; how helpless Louis looked; how protected he was under Harry's arm.

 

The trouble was, the world didn't care what Louis saw in that picture. They didn't care that the picture reflected the truest Louis that the world had ever seen. They only cared that their beloved British football player liked guys.

 

"You can say you were drunk you know," Stan offers quietly as Louis' mind reels. "You look it enough to pretend it's not what it looks like..."

 

"It _is_ what it fucking looks like!" Louis rages, thrusting the phone back at his friend. "I mean I didn't give him a blow-job but-"

 

"There's still time..."

 

Harry's deep, sleep-heavy voice enters the fray, causing Louis to spin and stare at him.

 

He's pulled those ridiculous leggings back on; with his newly-acquired snow jacket. A huge beanie houses his hair.

 

Louis swallows, a shiver coursing through him as the cold, damp air finally reaches his bones.

 

"C'mere," Harry walks over- also bare-footed- and wraps Louis into his coat.

 

Louis huffs out a half-annoyed sigh.

 

"Hazza, I have to tell you something..."

 

Louis tries to step back from his naked chest but Harry's got his arms around him now and won't let go.

 

"We're in the paper," Harry states simply, flicking a look to Stan. "My mum rang me."

 

Louis winces, pushing Harry away as he stumbles back.

 

"I never wanted to- to make things difficult," he breathes, emotions rising sharply.

 

This is the whole reason he can't have anything good. Because for the one second he lets his guard down, someone creeps under it and stabs him in the back. Or the heart. _Sometimes both_.

 

Harry reaches for his wrist. He tugs insistently but Louis doesn't budge so he shuffles up to him once more, coat open and wrapping around him. Again, Harry looks to Stan.

 

"I'm not after his money, just so you know."

 

Stan nods.

 

"I can see that. Sorry I was... _you know_."

 

Harry nods like he understands but Louis' lost. How can he possibly have any idea?

 

"My dad-" Harry starts, then frowns with a sigh. "Look, we're not in touch, he abandoned me when he found out I was gay and I was basically emancipated when I moved in with my ex but-"

 

Louis looks up then, a glimmer of hope coursing through his veins.

 

Maybe Harry _does_ understand? Maybe they can work through this?

 

"Hazza?" Louis prompts, one small hand pressing into Harry's chest.

 

"Let's just say he has a very high position at Shell," Harry murmurs quietly.

 

Stan splutters out a laugh.

 

"The hippie comes from an oil heritage?"

 

Harry softens at his evident teasing, rolling his eyes.

 

"Yeah, yeah," he hums with a shrug. "Ironic I know."

 

Louis slips his arms around Harry's waist to burrow into his warmth.

 

"So you know about press?" He broaches carefully.

 

Harry smirks.

 

"You don't remember the headlines at the time? _Shell CEO shuns playboy son_?"

 

Louis shakes his head, a grimace settling on his lips.

 

"Only they forgot to mention I wasn't a playboy and I was shunned for being gay."

 

Louis tiptoes to press a kiss to Harry's cheek reverently.

 

"Fuckwit," Louis murmurs. "He didn't deserve you."

 

Harry smiles down at him, running his palm over the back of Louis' head.

 

"How could you possibly know that? You've known me less than two days."

 

Louis smiles at his own assurance.

 

"I see you," he murmurs privately, earning a puking sound effect from Stan.

 

Harry grins at the other man, sobering as he looks at Louis.

 

"There is a point to me telling you all of this."

 

Louis smirks, letting his hands drop to squeeze Harry's backside.

 

"There is?"

 

Harry rearranges his arms around Louis' shoulders.

 

"I just want you to know that whatever decision you make about the press, I'm cool with it. Don't let me get in the way of what you want to do..."

 

Stan looks at Harry with a new respect.

 

"You do realise they will hunt you down and hound you out?"

 

Harry looks down at Louis with wide, wise eyes.

 

"Some things are worth the struggle."

 

Louis wishes that this was more than a three night-thing with a flimsy promise of a future, he wishes-

 

"I have a call to make," he steps out of Harry's warm embrace and takes Stan's phone; heading back into the commune shelter leaving Harry and Stan standing awkwardly together outside.

 

"So," Harry smiles brightly, brows lifting.

 

Stan chuckles.

 

"You're alright, you know that?"

 

Harry hums, a sad tilt to his mouth.

 

He might be 'alright' in Stan's book, but will Louis want to keep him around? He'd practically confessed last night that he didn't see them surviving past this weekend and well-Louis might just be right because even with the press disregarded, their future looked bleak. But Harry wanted to at least _talk_ about it. He wanted a chance to _try_.

 

He and Louis might not know each other very well but the way Louis made him feel last night was enough to make him want to fight for something more.

 

"Come inside?" Harry invites, wrapping his coat around himself against the cold.

 

Stan follows him into the commune.

 

//

 

 

Louis is spooning Harry again; slightly bemused by the fellow commune-member sleeping behind him; a little too close for comfort.

 

He wriggles closer to Harry and the other man twists to secure Louis in his arms, against his front. Harry slings a leg over Louis' for good measure.

 

"Shelley...budge over," Harry mumbles sleepily and Louis smiles into Harry's chest as the other sleeper rolls away from his personal space.

 

Harry settles his cheek in Louis' hair.

 

Louis had spoken to his mum the previous morning. He'd told her the press had gotten hold of possibly damaging material; had explained that he and Harry truly weren't some 'fling' and she had- _as always_ \- supported him completely, even if Harry was a 'holiday romance' as she put it.

 

Louis had called his coach right after and told him that it was time to stage his coming out. He was going to do an Interview with Attitude magazine and he'd ride out the reaction until everybody forgot his name again.

 

He'd paid a princely sum to his lawyer to secure Harry's anonymity and it left him in semi-limbo, afraid to be photographed again, but not wanting to lose any of his precious little time left with Harry.

 

"Hazza?"

 

"Hmm," Harry curls him in.

 

"I want to-" Louis clears his throat, scraping his fingertips against Harry's back lightly.

 

"Oh yeah?" Harry's voice rumbles deeply as dimples carve into his cheeks, his body rolling towards Louis'.

 

"No," Louis muses, pushing his weight back against him. "I mean, _yeah_ but not-"

 

"What do you want, Lou?" Harry asks.

 

"I want to see you again." Louis admits, wincing.

 

Harry's quiet breathing brings Louis' gaze from his chest to his face. His hair is flopped to one side; undercut and beautiful. His face is handsome, youthful and perfectly made. Louis has no idea how to keep a guy like Harry around.

 

Harry's regarding him solemnly, hands tugging at Louis' t-shirt softly.

 

"I guess we can do that," he broaches with a gentle voice.

 

Louis lets out a shaky breath.

 

"I mean...you live near by right? And so do I and-"

 

"I live in Holmes Chapel," Harry divulges. "There's a huge camping ground there where the commune is based."

 

"Holmes Chapel?" Louis repeats, frowning.

 

Harry hums, fingers twirling Louis' fringe distractedly.

 

"But I'm based in Manchester it's-"

 

"...less than an hour," Harry finishes.

 

Their eyes meet and there's a few seconds of staring before they tilt their heads, hands sliding onto faces as their lips meet.

 

"You can be my guilty secret," Louis grins as Harry rolls on top of him, between his thighs.

 

Harry presses kisses onto Louis' just-bared chest, flinging away his top.

 

"Fuck, you can be mine too," Harry pants because god knows the hippies won't get why he's dating a football hero.

 

"Hazza," Louis gasps as Harry's lips brush his bare belly.

 

Harry smiles against the skin.

 

"Might as well make that article accurate, hm?"

 

Louis frowns for a minute until it makes sense, Harry kissing against his hip.

 

"But it was me who was-"

 

Louis' protest is cut off with a  groan.

 

//

 

That night, it begins to snow, a sudden cold burst sweeping across the UK that hasn't been forecast.

 

Harry's out in the midst of the storm; sticky snowflakes falling into his dreaded hair as Louis trudges out in his wellies and a borrowed parka jacket.

 

"For fuck's sake, Harold, come on," he reaches for Harry's coat sleeve and tugs at it.

 

Harry's smiling up at the pure white sky; his nose and cheeks flushed pink.

 

"It's so pretty, Louis, come and see..."

 

Louis purses his lips and rolls his eyes, flipping up the furry hood of the borrowed coat. He zips it up for good measure, rubbing his glove-less hands together.

 

He comes in front of Harry with an expectant brow lift.

 

"I'm not making snow-angels, don't try and make me..."

 

Harry grins.

 

"Your hands look cold," he says and Louis steps closer with a bemused smile, clenching his fingers tightly to revive the blood flow.

 

Louis tries to hide his smile by ducking his chin but it's there when he looks back up.

 

"Freezing," he agrees with a cold-rasped voice.

 

Harry takes another step closer; closing the space between them, looming over Louis with a smirk.

 

"Think I can help you with that, you know."

 

"Yeah?" Louis arches a brow for effect, biting his lip to curb his grin.

 

"Hm, got a nice warm place you can put them," Harry winks as he grins and Louis can't help his bark of laughter.

 

"Ha!" He bends over, then straightens, holding his hands up between them once he sobers. "Go ahead, Hazza. Let's see this grand hand-warming idea of yours..."

 

Harry unzips his snow jacket and grasps Louis' hands, gently pushing them up underneath his lilac jumper; the soft jersey of an undershirt also pushes aside. Louis splays his fingers against the warm flesh, earning a surprised gasp from Harry.

 

"Jesus; you're an icicle..."

 

Louis nods smugly, fingers star-fishing against Harry's abdomen.

 

"Do you like it?" He asks innocently enough.

 

Harry swallows, leaning down to kiss him, short and sweet; their lips lingering as clouds of their breath burst out.

 

"I like _you_ if that counts," he says, quietly, voice deep.

 

Louis trails his thumb upwards, searching out a certain metallic bar that spears a sensitive nipple. The combination of cold skin and erotic touch makes Harry gulp back a moan as his nostrils flare.

 

"Must you do that?" He asks, a whisper.

 

Louis noses up under his chin to kiss onto his stubbled throat, teeth grazing against his chin. His thumb presses ever-so-gently into the nub of Harry's nipple, swirling lightly. Harry wraps him up and kisses him deeply, the snow landing on them as though they are a part of the scene, an unmoving object. Louis shivers; Eskimo-kissing the man in his hold.

 

"I can blag us an executive tent you know. They have heaters."

 

"That's cheating," Harry murmurs, kissing Louis tenderly after.

 

"It's also warm..." Louis muses.

 

Harry squirms as Louis' thumb presses and swirls again; the sensations going straight to his groin.

 

"Lou," he breaths, lashes flickering against the snow-fall.

 

"It's almost Christmas," Louis reasons. "It can be my gift to you."

 

Harry slides a hand onto Louis' behind and squeezes.

 

"I think I can lay my altruistic morals to one side just for tonight..."

 

Louis giggles into the fluff of Harry's hood.

 

"Come on then, beautiful," Louis slides his hands out from under Harry's top, linking their fingers instead. "Let's get warm together."

 

//

 

//

 

"Why do they always have this festival outdoors in the bloody winter?"

 

A kiss lands on Louis' beanie.

 

"Because it's to celebrate the Winter Solstice, remember? That occurs on the 21st of December."

 

Louis shivers, hands jammed into his khaki jacket pockets, fingerless gloves covering his hands.

 

"It's cold is what it is."

 

"Hardened footballer like you," Harry teases, smiling into Louis' temple.

 

Louis gives him a side-eyed look.

 

"I still feel the cold, Harold. Unlike you bloody polar bears..."

 

Harry's arm sneaks around his back, hand squeezing his waist.

 

"Wanna stroke my fur?" Harry pants into his ear as his feet stumble over the knotty grass.

 

"Buy some Timberlands next year," Louis commands, his voice exceptionally soft.

 

If anyone knew him, they'd know that was Louis' foreplay voice, the one that came out of his throat without him even knowing it. Harry knew him quite well and smiled smugly.

 

"I think you're turned on," he crows victoriously. "You think my fur is sexy..."

 

"You don't have any f-" Louis whirls to exasperate; only to be captured by two strong arms and hauled against a warm, long body. "Mm-mmm..." Louis melts into the kiss after his initial protest.

 

Harry pulls back to brush their noses together with a secret smile.

 

"I love you."

 

Louis' breath catches. It always does when Harry says those words, ever since the very first time after Louis had shown him the front cover of _Attitude_ magasine and his interview confessing his preference for men and his love for a mysterious nomad.

 

His lashes flicker; more from the sheen of tears that always fills his eyes in these moments than wanting to avoid Harry's gaze. He stares into his beautiful eyes.

 

"I love you too, Hazza. You know that, right?"

 

Harry rolls his eyes and flicks his hair away- still in dread locks but longer now, thanks to deciding to grow it.

 

"I think the half-time digital poster that was displayed around the stadium the first game you played after we went official says a lot," he replies dryly.

 

Louis shakes his head and swallows, a mar forming between his brows.

 

"No, none of that matters...the lights, the luxury hotels. I want you to know how I feel... _truly_."

 

Harry cups Louis' face in tender hands, thumbs sliding over his jaw.

 

"I see you, Louis Tomlinson," Harry murmurs.

 

It's been five years; this is their fifth anniversary, each year spent at the festival to commemorate the place they'd met and fallen in love. (Louis argues that you can't fall in love in four days but Harry always wins the argument that you _can_ , because they _did_...)

 

Louis brushes his lips against Harry's before kissing him slowly, every brush of their lips feeling oh-so meaningful.

 

"Can we see our tent now?" Harry asks, smiling like a kid at Christmas.

 

Louis laughs since each year after they met, Louis pays for a special tent to be put up right beside the commune but with all the mod-cons a glamorous camper could ask for.

 

Half of Harry's friends end up gate-crashing their luxury but it's worth it to surprise Harry every time with a new interior decoration to impress him. Last year he'd gone for Moroccan and it had resulted in some of the hottest sex Louis had ever shared with anyone; the use of flimsy scarves and spiced massage oils a definite bonus.

 

This year, he hopes Harry will be as delighted as ever but something squiggles in his belly in nervous apprehension. It's not a sexy layout, it's not enticing or erotic or even that _glamorous_. But he hopes it means so much more because of it.

 

//

 

"It's-"

 

Harry stumbles to a stop, his hair clacking together as it settles. His eyes are huge as he stares at Louis, blinking, lips parted and no words coming out.

 

"An igloo," Louis supplies helpfully of the tunnel-entry bubble tent. "All the rage apparently..."

 

Harry's face melds into something soft and awed.

 

"Lou..."

 

"Want to see inside?" Louis asks, clearing his throat with a bashful smile.

 

Harry follows Louis to the tunnel and crawls in after him; eyes darting around as his lip gets captured in his teeth.

 

It's a Nordic theme, mostly white with touches of brown. There's a white fake-fur throw covering a futon bed and white rose petals scattered on the white sheets and pillow cases. There's a fake stuffed brown bear which doubles as a seat and laid out on the arm of it is a pair of fleece leggings and a long sleeved top in the same material; cute red and white patterns of ginger-bread men among geographical shapes.

 

"Ta-da!" Louis lifts his arms at his sides while Harry's gaze gets snagged up in the fairy-lighted stars hanging from the ceiling of the igloo-tent.

 

Harry looks at him.

 

Louis smiles hopefully, his stomach twisting. Tonight is possibly the most important night of his life (depending on Harry's answer to his very-important question) and he wants it to be soft and romantic and he hopes against all hope that Harry feels the same, that he doesn't-

 

"Fuck, come here, Lou," Harry growls, striding over to grab him and kiss him roughly, big arms going around him only to start walking him backwards towards the bed.

 

Louis smiles into the kiss, chuckling into Harry's mouth the second before Harry inelegantly lowers to his knees; rolling himself and Louis onto the futon with excited passion.

 

"Baby, slow down," Louis breathes, lifting his arms as Harry peels off his top.

 

Harry doesn't listen, pressing fast, hot kisses to Louis' ribs.

 

"Please," Harry mumbles against his skin.

 

Louis pets his hair.

 

"Alright, Hazza, we can do this...yeah," he agrees blindly; Harry's hands now working at his jeans fastening.

 

"What's that in your pocket?" Harry thumbs at the small square solid object, pressing kisses to Louis' hips before he's even got his jeans fully off.

 

Louis stills, yanked out of the sensual moment with a heavy thud of his heart and a frightening swoop in his belly.

 

"Shit."

 

Harry frowns, glancing up Louis' body to catch his gaze. Louis swallows, fingering Harry's beautiful hair, sliding his fingers into the nest of dreads to stroke at the short fuzz of his undercut.

 

"H...look..."

 

Harry slowly moves back until he's on his knees, hands searching for Louis' and lacing their fingers together.

 

"It's not a cock-ring is it?" Harry asks, pouting.

 

He knows he's got a bit of history when it comes to peaking too soon but he didn't realise it was a _problem_. He didn't realise Louis felt the need to remedy the situation; in fact he's always been so supportive to Harry in his moments of premature release. He's always gotten a bit flattered by it.

 

Harry swallows.

 

"Am I--Is this not working for you?" He asks, heartbreakingly sad as his lips tilt down.

 

Louis sits up, struggling to move with Harry between his thighs but he tucks his knees into Harry's waist and sighs, licking his lips, twisting them in something like regret.

 

"We really needed to be stood up for this," Louis says, wincing.

 

Harry bites his lip. This must be bad. _Stood up?_ They couldn't even make this into a joke and experiment in bed; it was like-

 

"It's not Viagra is it?" Harry interrupts with a betrayed look. "I don't need help with _that_ , you know..."

 

Louis cups his face, his expression softening and tears wetting his eyes.

 

"Hazza, no! God-no, it's nothing like that. I'm more than happy with us, with...you _know_ ," Louis tilts his head to the side with a little smirk. "Really happy."

 

"Oh," Harry murmurs. It reminds Louis of the first time they had sex and Harry's theatrics with the 'oh' word.

 

"Harry...Baby..." Louis gulps, heart stuttering. "I want to marry you. I've wanted to marry you ever since you showed me that bar through your nipple..."

 

Harry's face slowly changes as realisation dawns on him.

 

"W-what? Louis? Wh-"

 

"Shh," Louis quietens him fondly, scrambling to get onto one knee, despite Harry's similar pose. It's hopeless to ask him to stand, Harry's shaking already.

 

"Lou," he begs, biting his lip.

 

"So I was just wondering really; just as a passing thought, whether you'd like to marry me too? Like, if this is a mutual thing or whether you know...you fancy some other footballer who will roll in the mud with you..."

 

Harry's breath catches on a wet laugh, his tears choking out in a happy sob.

 

"Yes! Lou, yes!" Harry surges forward to hug him, arms going around Louis' neck and Louis catches him, suddenly realising he hasn't even pulled out the ring box, hasn't presented the piece he's chosen to Harry-

 

Harry's too busy kissing him deeply to mind.

 

Later; when they're soft and naked together, Louis reaches for his jeans and pulls out the box. He opens it to reveal a perfectly exquisite rose-gold ring with diamonds embedded into the shape of a flower; intricate detailing at each side setting off the unique design.

 

It couldn't be more perfect and Harry stares at him like he's just gained sight and is looking at the sun rising for the first time in his life.

 

"Love you, Lou," he manages on a thick, wobbly voice as Louis pushes the ring onto his finger.

 

"It's not nearly as pretty as you," Louis smirks at his cheesy line, smiling proudly when Harry gives him a mock-glare.

 

Harry's pout has Louis cuddling him up and kissing it away.

 

"Where do you want to get married love? In a forest among the trees?" Louis poses as he nuzzles their noses together.

 

Harry's eyes cross as he looks at him, dimpling beautifully.

 

"Wherever you want, Lou-bear. I'll marry you on the pitch if you say the words..."

 

Louis rolls his eyes.

 

"Don't tell the team that," he begs, kissing Harry's nose.

 

"I won't," he says quietly, soft and reverent while he lifts his hand to stare at his ring.

 

Louis watches him with a relieved smile.

 

"You know, I never did say thank you," Harry murmurs, eyes fixing back on Louis' face after kissing him tenderly for a long moment.

 

"For what?" Louis frowns.

 

"For getting me out of the mud," Harry reminds him amusedly.

 

Louis laughs.

 

"You were such a little shit!"

 

"Can you blame me?" Harry defends lightly. "A hot guy tells me to mount him and then insults my favourite shoes..."

 

"It was your fault for mentioning designers, Harold, if you remember r-"

 

Louis' cut off mid-barb by another kiss. A lovely one that tastes of futures and spouses.

 

The kiss is only broken by the shouts and cheers of the revelers outside.

 

"It's snowing!" Announces one particularly helpful person outside their tent.

 

Louis grins; curling into the fur blanket a bit tighter.

 

"Glad I'm warm and cozy in here..."

 

Harry's eyes meet his, bright and hopeful.

 

"Lou, can we go outside? Just for a few minutes?"

 

Louis groans and rolls backwards, covering himself with the fur.

 

"Lou, come on, it'll be just like our first time, you _know_..."

 

Louis flips the blanket down, brow arching.

 

"Will you keep my hands warm?" He bargains hesitantly.

 

Harry rolls over and spoons him, kissing his cheek.

 

"I'll keep _all_ of you warm. I promise..."

 

Louis knows it's a lie but he can't say no to Harry, not when he just agreed to marry him.

 

"Okay but if you don't make a snow angel then the wedding is off..."

 

Harry leaps out of bed with a happy almost child-like giggle, jamming on clothes to get ready for the bitter cold.

 

He gathers up Louis in his coat once they're outside, kissing him warm again.

 

"Oh and by the way, my little Christmas baby," Harry smiles. "Happy Christmas."

 

Louis smiles at him bemusedly, kissing him senseless.

 

When they pull apart and Harry hands him a small gift-box, Louis gives him a confused look.

 

Harry pinkens slightly.

 

"Great minds think alike?" He offers nervously.

 

"It's still two weeks away," Louis mutters, opening the box to reveal a thick, simple rose gold band.

 

His eyes flick to Harry, shocked.

 

"You were going to-?"

 

Harry grins, nodding.

 

"On your birthday."

 

Louis' eyes widen and he throws himself at Harry a bit, struggling to catch a hold around his shoulders in the snow. On the second go, Harry's arms tighten around him to keep him there, against his body.

 

Louis kisses him again, smiling through it.

 

"Yes, by the way," he murmurs softly.

 

Harry's eyes glow at Louis' acceptance of Harry's own planned proposal.

 

"So you know how you like football?" Harry hums, pressing kisses to Louis' cheek.

 

"Hmm?" Louis clutches a handful of Harry's ever-growing hair, burrowing his fingers into the soft patch at the back.

 

"Do you want your own team one day?"

 

Louis tilts his head.

 

"You want to buy a football team?"

 

Harry's smile is slow and perfect like always.

 

"I want to _raise_ one," he murmurs. "As many players as you can cope with..."

 

When Louis cottons onto Harry's meaning, he beams widely, kissing him hard.

 

"Fuck yeah, Hazza. Let's make a whole team of you's..."

 

Harry leans down to whisper in his ear.

 

"And you's."

 

Louis' eyes crescent in happiness.

 

"Can we go back and cuddle in the igloo now?" He asks.

 

Harry smirks.

 

"Yeah, I want to wear my new long-johns..."

 

Louis squeezes his ass with a cheeky wink.

 

"I want to get you out of them, too."

 

\----

 

 


End file.
